


Blue fingers

by Captain_Mercurian



Series: Blue [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Cheating, Hooker!Peter, Imagine whoever you want as Killians wife, M/M, married!killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait,” he said and frowned, “your... wife... is in there? You want me to meet your wife? This is fucking sick. You are fucking sick.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue fingers

Killian didn't love her, he really didn't. 

He grew tired of constantly lying to himself day by day. 

 

Despite knowing, he didn't even try to leave her. If anyone knew of this inner turmoil he faced they’d scoff that he was a coward, scared of the consequences of his actions. But he wouldn’t necessarily put it in those words, because he wasn’t scared at all; he just didn't want to change his life. They had a house, jobs and besides he at least liked her. She was his age and a woman. It was an easy life, a far better one he could ever have with a rent boy. Hell, it was a far better life than he could have with any boy no matter his occupation.

He didn’t even know if the boy was legal. This hooker could put him into prison for all the things they’ve done. They could never have a life like he had with her; though he wasn’t even sure if the boy wanted to spend his life with him anyway.

Tiny flakes of snow could be seen fluttering from the sky, falling and melting on the cool asphalt. Killian clutched his leather coat tightly and hurried to his car; throwing his grocery bags to the back seats. He started the car, pondering if the boy was reckless enough to “work” in this kind of weather. He could catch his death if he was outside trying to find someone to fuck him, make him warm and leave him with some money.

Killian hoped that he was at home, safe and sound; possibly drinking some hot cocoa or whatever a boy-prostitute like him would drink. Then again, what kind of home could he possibly have? He wouldn’t be living with his parents since they would have noticed his nightly absence and taken charge of him, an orphanage would have even more so.

A 15-Year old couldn't rent an apartment, not unless he worked for a pimp or madam who gave him a bed to sleep in and a roof to live under. But those kind of prostitutes had their own districts. Every time he found him, every time they met up, he had been alone. 

Was he alone right now? Like all those other nights, waiting on the street for a stranger to pick him up? The thought made his stomach lurch.

Killian’s teeth grazed over his bottom lip as he braked for the florescent red lights. 

It wouldn't hurt to just take a look if he's somewhere around, would it? 

Inhaling deeply he took the left curve and hunted through shadows and street lamps for dirty blond curls and long, slim legs. He was almost relieved when he didn't find him at his typical corner which now was piled high with snow.

He still worried for the boy, the taste of iron tainting his tongue, but he turned and slowly trekked home attempting to push him from his mind. Then he saw it, a slender figure lounging recklessly on the fence of an abandoned domicile. His brakes cried out as he slammed his right foot down.

There was the boy; dirty blonde hair reflecting off headlights, arms clutching his holey coat tight, and that wickedly tempting smirk plastered on his face like a mask. Killian rushed to open the door, exiting quickly and stepping toward the young prostitute.

But then he thought of her for a single brief second and had to slow his feet to a stop. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t just pick him up and carry him off to a rundown motel; she would notice.

Killian thought himself the most reckless idiot of all time when he finally came to a conclusion from what he’d do with the boy. The thought shook him from his bones to his core with nervousness, but he’d be damned if he ever allowed a child to freeze in the cold, even if that child was a rent-boy.

Neither one spoke a word as Killian slowly crept towards the still figure whose fiery green eyes stared blankly at his grown silhouette. When he reached the apex between the headlights and street lamp erasing all shadows and revealing who he was, the boys grin vanished. Killian reached forward grasping his ice cold hand in his own and intertwining frozen, blue fingers with his.

“Come on, love,” he muttered awkwardly, letting this particular expression melt on his tongue and lead the boy into his car. A thread of shivers tingled down Killian’s spine as they walked hand-in-hand with those haunting, broken eyes drilling holes into his back, but he resisted craning his neck to shake away the feeling. Ignoring such things was something he’s grown frightfully good at.

“Buckle up,” he exclaimed believing with full knowledge the boy was not going to listen, but surprisingly he obeyed.

The drive was presumably quiet. It consisted of awkward moments, no eye contact, and the soft chafing of the boy’s blue hands by the heater. About half way to the destination though, without so much as looking at the youth Killian reached over to embrace his hands. He caressed the cold skin with his fingers, rubbed his thumb along the soft top in order to warm him up. The boy didn't move, letting Killian do as he pleased and not commenting on it.

A few more long, drawn out minutes passed before finally Killian parked in front of a house, his house. He looked sternly to the boy, “Okay, now listen carefully,” he paused in wait for those emerald eyes to catch his, “you are the son of my colleague Thomas who had to go on a business trip. You forgot your keys and have to wait until he's back. We met at the shopping center and I suggested that you could stay with us for a while. Your last name is Barrow. Got it?”

The green eyes widened; their stare kind of shocked: “Wait,” he said and frowned, “your... wife... is in there? You want me to meet your wife?” His voice was shaky with disbelief.

“I want you to have a bed, food and warm clothing as long as this blizzard lasts. That is all. If you're worrying about the money: I'll pay you for every night, as usual. But you will not touch me, flirt with me or do anything except be polite and shutting the fuck up about our 'relationship'. Is that clear?”

“This,” he muttered and clenched his hands to fists, “is fucking sick. You are fucking sick.” He left the car and for a moment Killian thought the boy would flee, but instead he headed to the house pausing on the steps with crossed arms. Cursing Killian grabbed his grocery bags from the back and caught up to him opening the door before the cold picked at their warm skin. 

“I'm home!” he shouted and he heard her faint footsteps approaching them. He laid the bags to the floor and swiftly removed his coat to hang up, all while watching the young boy wander through the small corridor, his eyes taking in all the nick-knacks and pictures on the shelves.

He was hanging up his coat when he heard her surprised voice: “Honey, who is that?”

“This is,” Killian stopped his words, the recognition that he had never asked for name dawning on him, “er…uh.” Even if he had asked, he assumed that the boy would have probably made up some fake name anyway.

“I’m Peter,” the boy said suddenly, smiling at her with the most innocent expression Killian had ever seen on his face. “Peter Barrow—I am the son of his colleague.”

 

Killian didn't love her. He really didn't.

Nonetheless he was afraid of the damage this boy was capable to make to her heart—and his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @ouatCaptainPan for being my beta :)


End file.
